


The Head That Wears a Crown

by erichtho



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, and b) hilda can be delightfully ruthless, i maybe back hilda a lil bit more assertive than usual in this but listen, if part 2 told us anything it's that a) hilda is the only competent bitch in this place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erichtho/pseuds/erichtho
Summary: “Rage has a taste,” she says, speech as soft and unhurried as her gaze, “At least to me. And most people, well, they taste of ash – of fire, of brimstone. A bright flash of anger, and they’re gone. Zelda, Sabrina, even the Dark Lord in his day. But you, well… You, Hildegarde, taste like the sea.”





	The Head That Wears a Crown

It has been three months since the destruction of the Academy. The nebulous entity of the Spellman house has been transformed into a site of learning and worship, a fact which continues to take its toll on the rather more compact entity of the Spellman household.

Although the mortuary is far less crowded than it was initially, there are still a dozen witches and warlocks residing nightly under the Spellman’s roof, crammed into whatever convenient nook and cranny happens to be available: The Weird Sisters are in Ambrose’s room, older members of the congregation in the office, younger members in the sitting room. Even Sabrina has risen to the challenge, letting the youngest members of the coven stay with her and Salem.

Only two spaces remain uninhabited: the greenhouse and the kitchen. Hilda splits her time between the two almost perfectly. As for the latter, this is because she’s still the best cook in the coven, and now that she’s feeding people who are both competent helpers and grateful guests, preparing food is slowly becoming a joy again. As for the former, she spends her time playing botanist because Faustus Blackwood (surprise, surprise) knocked healing off the curriculum twelve years ago, and they’ve now been left with three competent herbalists between them. One of Zelda’s first acts is to get the younger members trained up.

Among Zelda’s other acts are the reinstatement of a basic routine, the careful delegation of resources, and the creation of an advisory council. Democratically elected, of course.

The advisory council is a natural necessity – the Church of Lilith can not be run as a dictatorship – but containing both Prudence and Sabrina, it has so far proven a beast unto itself. Even now, with the remnants of the Dark Council breathing down their neck, Zelda spends more time brokering peace between her followers than any external body.

In Hilda’s mind there are no two ways about it. Though she loves her niece, and though she is yet to forgive Prudence, Sabrina’s word should not, herald or not, be held above that of her peers. Privately, Zelda agrees with this, although at present Sabrina’s divine status is rendering public relations somewhat difficult.

Still, Hilda’s sure they’ll figure it out, eventually.

She’s pleasantly surprised when Zelda offers her the spare room.

Until now they’ve been sharing again, and Hilda fully expected it to remain that way for the foreseeable future. But, with the departure of two more witches, Zelda feels they finally have enough space. She runs the motion through the advisory council, just for the sake of propriety, and Hilda expects bristly resistance from… Well, from everyone. Instead, she finds only enthusiasm and whole-hearted agreement. After all, as Prudence says, Hilda is the only reason many of them are alive, and she’s been keeping the entire coven fed for weeks. The veritable powerhouse of the Church of Lilith, Ambrose calls her during the meeting. Hilda’s tickled pink – between Dr Cee and this new found veneration, the apocalypse is turning out quite nicely for her.

Zelda helps her move her belongings at the end of the day. They talk quietly, in hushed voices on the odd chance someone’s already taken to bed. There’s something slightly theistic about the whole process, Zelda’s title notwithstanding.

“I made you a, um, a sleeping draught,” says Hilda, just as Zelda’s about to leave the room. “I know you said you wanted to face everything without magic, and I know the nightmares aren’t so bad now but… Well, you know.”

For a moment Zelda’s face flashes with righteous anger, but then she glances down at the glass bottle and softens.

“Thank you, sister.”

“And if you need anything, anything at all, you know where I am.”

Zelda takes the bottle and nods. Then she takes a deep breath, and draws Hilda into one of the most genuine hugs they’ve had since this whole affair began.

“I can move back in,” says Hilda into her sister’s shoulder, “If you like.”

“No,” replies Zelda, sighing and stepping away, “I’ll have to face this alone eventually.”

Then she turns on her heel and walks primly down the corridor.

Hilda watches the back of her head uneasily. She knows her sister can’t outrun this forever, knows that Zelda’s obsessive busyness and unrelenting micromanagement is all part of her elaborate plan to forget the marriage ever happened, but she can’t keep going on like this, sleeping draught or not. Hilda suspects she hasn’t had a night’s unbroken sleep since the wedding.

Still, she thinks, if this is what Zelda wants, then there’s no point trying to stop her. There’s little more she can do now anyway, not unless someone gets their hands on Faustus Blackwood, in which case Hilda reckons she’d have to join a queue.

She shuts the door and looks around. A whole en-suite, all to herself: full of books, clothes Zelda calls ugly, and a burgeoning collection of spiderwebs. She gives a small squeak of glee and lets herself sit down on the bed. She hasn’t had this much privacy for an age. She could even bring Cee home now. Well, no, she thinks, maybe not, but it’s nice to have the option, even if it is only theoretical.

She prepares for bed quickly and unpretentiously. She doesn’t usually go to sleep this early, but it’s already dark out, and there’s still a slim chance Zelda will come knocking later on. Hilda won’t begrudge her this, no matter what happens, but she _would_ like to get some shuteye beforehand.  

Lilith is waiting for her when she finishes brushing her teeth.

Hilda steps out of the bathroom and the demon herself is sitting neatly on the edge of the vanity, perching in Mary Wardwell’s skin and cocking her head like a bird of prey. Hilda jumps in surprise, then sighs heavily.

“Hello,” says the demon.

“And what do _you_ want?”

It’s probably not the best opening line, but Hilda doesn’t care. She’s not been best pleased with the woman in Mary Wardwell’s skin, and unless Lilith turns into a goat with unceasing power, Hilda does not feel inclined to bend at the knee. At any rate, Lilith was _rude_ to her only a few months ago. If there’s one thing Hilda will not stomach, it’s a lack of basic courtesy.  

“My, is that anyway to address your queen?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. What do you want, _your majesty_?”

It’s sarcasm, but Lilith nods anyway. Hilda pushes past her and gets into bed.

“I’ve come to check up on you,” says Lilith, “That is, I’ve come to check up on the coven.”

“Well,” begins Hilda, picking up her book and opening it at random, “As you can see, I’ve moved out of Zelda’s room, so if you’d like to speak to her- “

“I don’t want to speak to Zelda,” interrupts Lilith, “I want to speak to you.”

Hilda sighs and puts the book down again.

“And why, pray tell is that? And where did you get Mary’s skin from, might I ask? I thought you’d given that back.”

“I wanted to return to you in familiar form,” croons the demon, “I know how young people crave consistency.”

Hilda rolls her eyes as Lilith pushes off the vanity and does a little pirouette.

“Yes, well, I assure you the real Mary Wardwell would not have dressed like _that_.”

Lilith’s smile falls and she stares at Hilda with utter disdain.  

“I’m _trying_ to be nice.”

“And I’m trying to sleep. What do you want?”

“I already told you.” She saunters over to the end of the bed and sits at Hilda’s feet. “I want to know how things are going.”

“Fine,” says Hilda shortly, “Zelda’s in charge, Sabrina hasn’t done anything stupid, and nobody’s died. There. You can be off now.”

“Zelda’s fine?”

Hilda goes to make a snappy reply, but there’s something gentle in Lilith’s voice. Empathy? thinks Hilda, or pity? She looks at the demon, really looks at her, and, yes, her face is gentle too. Empathy, then.

“No,” says Hilda, softly, “She’s not fine.”

“I thought so,” sighs the demon.

Lilith clutches her hands in her lap and looks into the corner of the room. There’s already a small collection of spiders there, busy spinning webs in the shape of dream-catchers. More empathy, thinks Hilda, or disappointment?

She purses her lips: she feels like she’s dancing on a knife edge.

“You’ve heard her praying, haven’t you?”

“I have heard… Her voice,” replies Lilith.

“But not her prayers?”

“It’s… Complicated.”

“Ah,” says Hilda, “I see. Rather more work than you were expecting, hm?”

The figure before her shifts from woman to demon and back again in a second. Long enough for Hilda to gasp and grip at her bedsheets, but not long enough for her to trust her own eyes. Lilith looks away from the corner and fixes Hilda with an acrimonious glare, upper lip curling just shy of a sneer.

“Don’t get too cocky,” she says, “It doesn’t suit you.”

Hilda audibly gulps.

“Right,” she says, “Is that, uh… Is that all?”

“No,” says Lilith, “That is not all.”

She works her way up the bed, gliding over sheets that would have any normal person shuffling awkwardly. Hilda can feel the weight of her body as she moves, creaking towards the headboard. And then in one sudden motion, without any warning at all, Lilith is sitting right next to her.

“Because there is one voice,” she says, “That I haven’t been hearing at all.”

Hilda clenches her jaw.

“Sabrina, perhaps?”

“No.” Hilda can feel that word as well as hear it, because it cuts right through her rib cage and makes her whimper. “You.”

“Well,” whispers Hilda, and her eyes are shut and she can feel herself wincing, “Perhaps… I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I _beg_ your pardon?”

Oh Satan, thinks Hilda, that’s hit a nerve.

But the demon’s moving no closer, no further away, and there’s no magic in the atmosphere – at least nothing hostile. Hilda opens her eyes slowly, and she is surprised to find self-doubt on Lilith’s false features. It’s hidden deep beneath the shock and the arrogance, but it’s there nonetheless.

Hilda takes a deep breath and starts again, the virtue of not being dead instilling her with slightly more confidence.

“I mean… It’s not like you’ve done anything, is it? Zelda prays to you night and day, and she still goes back to that damn music box every evening. And Ambrose, and the warlocks, they’ve all be praying for forgiveness. Hell, even Blackwood’s daughter has been praying, more than she ever prayed to the Dark Lord might I add, and what have they received in reply? Hm? Nothing. Nothing at all. So… No. You will not be hearing my voice any time soon, and if you don’t like it, well, you’ll just have to lump it.”

Lilith leans back. She inclines her head once more, then runs a cool eye of appraisal over Hilda’s being.

“My,” she says eventually, “I can see where Sabrina gets her determination from.”

Hilda swallows.

“Yes,” she says, though her tone lacks the bite she’s aiming for, “And don’t you forget it.”

Lilith smiles cheerlessly before stepping off the bed. Hilda sags with relief. She tugs the bedcovers over herself in a mad scramble, but rather than vanishing in high-dudgeon as Hilda had hoped, the demon stays firmly fixed in the mortal realm. She begins pacing the room, turning around on herself like a tiger.

“I am sorry for what your sister has suffered,” she says, and Hilda can tell she’s being earnest because she’s avoiding eye contact, “But what’s done cannot be undone. Her best hope now is you. Patience, support, and you. Same goes for the rest of them.”

“But surely you must be able to do _something_?” says Hilda, “You must know where to find him. You’re the Queen of Hell for Satan’s sake, you must- “

Lilith stops pacing and stares at her. Hilda freezes.

“Slip of the tongue?” she says.

“Slip of the tongue, _your majesty_ ,” sniffs Lilith. Hilda breathes a sigh. “And no,” continues the demon, “I most certainly do _not_ know where to find him. You think the likes of him would ever speak to me? No, Hilda, although it pains me to say it, Faustus Blackwood has… Temporarily slipped the net.”

The demon’s eyes glaze over, and Hilda takes the opportunity to lower her protective polyester shield. She leans forward, if only to catch Lilith’s attention.

“Do tell me, if you find him, won’t you?”

“Mhm?”

“If you find him,” says Hilda, “I want to be the first to know.”

Lilith blinks, cocks her head.

“And why is that?”

“Because he… Because I want to know.”

“You’ll have quite a time getting to him,” replies Lilith, but she’s smiling now, “Your entire coven’s put a price on his head.”

“I know,” says Hilda, “But… They all want to kill him. Even Zelda. They just want him dead.”

Lilith’s smile broadens.

“And you want him alive?”

“Alive,” says Hilda, “And squirming.”

Magic floods the air. 

Hilda’s breathing doubles in an instant, deliberate rage tumbling off her like waterfall. It hits Lilith’s own deep lake of power, and the sprays are like tiny sparks, pins and needles all over Hilda’s body. She knows Lilith must feel it too, for the demon closes her eyes and shivers with pleasure. Hilda considers the gesture practically obscene, and in any other situation she would already be rescinding, but she wants Lilith to feel her anger. She wants the world to feel her anger.

“Oh Hilda,” sighs the demon, “I knew I made the right choice coming to you.”

She steps forward again, sits down next to the witch, and Hilda’s so surprised the pins and needles vanish. The moment closes and Hilda folds up like a flower in reverse, tugging on the blanket and holding it close to her chest. Lilith eyes her carefully, gaze crawling leisurely over her body. The witch’s knuckles turn white.

“You have a very singular taste, you know.”

“I’m sorry?”

Lilith smiles, leans in closer.

“Rage has a taste,” she says, speech as soft and unhurried as her gaze, “At least to me. And most people, well, they taste of ash – of fire, of brimstone. A bright flash of anger, and they’re gone. Zelda, Sabrina, even the Dark Lord in his day. But you, well… You, Hildegarde, taste like the sea.”

The demon looks her dead in the eye and Hilda’s breath hitches – she thinks Lilith’s about to devour her whole.

“Well,” Hilda squeaks, “I did always like swimming.”

For one horrible moment she fears Lilith’s going to do that thing again, flash into her true form and back, but the demon just throws her head back and laughs, short and sharp. Hilda clutches one hand to her chest – anymore of this and her nerves won’t be able to take it.    

Lilith steps off the bed and stands upright.

“You needn’t worry about your sister,” she sniffs, straightening her dress, “She’ll be safe for tonight.”

“And then what?” asks Hilda, buoyed by the familiar subject, “Am I meant to slip her a sleeping potion every evening?”

“That’s psychology, Hilda, not magic. I can’t help you there.”

“Then what about Blackwood? Or the coven, or, or… There must be something you can do. We’re trying to build a church in your image here, and that’s very hard with an absent god. I mean there’s nearly a dozen people still sleeping at the mortuary, you must be able to find a home for them or… Something. Anything?”

Lilith sighs, clicks her tongue.

“I will… Do my best.”

“Hm,” sniffs Hilda.

Then she picks up her book again, because she wants to bring this hellish interaction to a close.

“Well,” she says, “Now we’ve got that sorted, you can be on your way.”

She expects some resentment, or at the very least a metaphorical clip on the ear for neglecting Lilith’s title, but all she’s met with is silence. She looks up from her book.

Lilith has already gone.

**Author's Note:**

> *banging my fists on the table* tangible magic! tangible magic!


End file.
